What He Hears

Seduced with sensuous words, he is lost
inside; tantalized, tempted, and tortured.
The only release imaginary
conversation – copulation – with her.

Short of the physical, this sensation
captures him, leaves him – hanging on the edge.
She whispers she wants the push and the pull
give and take, their shared passion – desire.

He can’t see through her words, to who she is;
does not want to look beyond the surface.
Fantasy plays a large part in his life,
reality has little use for him.

And so he listens not to what she says –
but to what he hears her say in his mind.



It is too warm beneath the sheets; natural
fibers woven in with polyester
restrain her movement. Her breasts and belly
sweat-soaked and slick with desire for some
release from the confines, tangled linens.

She is feverish – from the heat outside?
Or her own memories of passion played
beneath a whirring ceiling fan, slightly
off-balance while keeping perfect rhythm
with the slow motion of their two bodies.

Too much sun; not enough water or salt,
she has drifted into the space between
consciousness and oblivion, lost there
waiting for the cooling touch of real life.


Mornings Like This

Mornings like this
find her curled within the warmth of an embrace.
Heavy with sleep, full of dreams
not yet abandoned,
her lips curve into the secret smile of lovers,
a sigh

that release of imagination
with day’s first blink and breath

and lashes flutter against cheeks
creased with pillow-wrinkles.

Tangled in sheets and the orange striped shirt, she twists;
the weight across her hips
the faint sound of rice shifting within
the heating pad’s worn fabric
whispers “wake up”
while she reaches away from reality
back toward sleep
and the comfort of her lover’s arms.

Mornings like this
she longs to stay in bed.


With a Kiss

Soft murmurs of sleep escape from full lips.
A dream? nightmare? Whose? perhaps it’s my own?
What woke me in the night? For a moment
I am lost in time and have to listen,
body tense, waiting to identify
the one next to me. Has it all been real
or some lurid fantasy, playing tricks,
pulling apart my mind, tearing my heart?
Tentative fingertips reach out, caress
the warmth and relax into the knowledge
found in slope of shoulder and narrow hip.
No longer holding my breath, I breathe in
the scent of him; reality descends
with a kiss as I drift back into sleep.


With Butter and Jam
She wakes, body stretched out to the edges
of a twin bed, covers rumpled from sleep.
Sunshine filters through the unfamiliar
curtains; sounds drift in the open window. 
Disoriented, she closes her eyes,
takes a deep breath, and remembers… Paris.
She knows that if she looks out the window
now she will see the skyline of her dreams,
the Eiffel Tower on the horizon;
the shelter of the Montparnasse’s shadow.
Up the street, a café for coffee, fresh
croissant with butter and jam, is waiting.
She slips from bed, slides a sundress over
nakedness – dreams become reality.

Distance Offers Time

Dreams and promises walk hand-in-hand, share
space in hearts and minds. Hope fills crevices
between reality and fantasy,
colors the sunrise – and sunset – beyond
the reds and oranges we see at first glance.

It provides magenta, crimson, azure,
goldenrod and seafoam to draw us on
toward tomorrow and the next day, healing
wounds and offering possibilities
in the shadow of painful memory.

Whether distance offers time in miles
or minutes, this need to touch and hold is
an aching reminder of days and nights
apart – and those shared – without each other.

© Siobhan



I fell into the mirror while bending

over my reflection; slipped into it

and, tumbling down past today, tripped back

toward where I was when we first met – weightless.


Surrounded by memories, I could see

forward – where I stood outside the mirror.

A sliver of existence wondering

how I’d gone from one place to the other.


Neither image seemed to be able to answer

the how or the why – both could see the where;

Yesterday and today shouted our life

back and forth – what could have been and what was.


Caught between two planes of reality

I found myself – again – wandering love.






The Path to Follow


Hot water beats down across bare shoulders,

cooler than the blood boiling in my veins.

Working the light fragrance into lather,

I attempt to soothe the anger, soften

the raw frustration, steady my hand – still

I quiver and shake with reality.


Left alone – the thought brings tears to my eyes.

Before I can blink them away, they fall,

mix with the shower’s spray, cascading down

across breasts, belly, washing lonely in

when I just want it to leave me – free me

from all the emotion holding me back.


Distraction, a razor blade, cuts across

as hands caress flesh, unleashing pent-up

passion – water fills my open mouth

even as I spit out fury and wrath.


Eventually I must learn to swallow

hurt or be consumed – the choice, this time, mine.


Naked, I step clean from the shower – know

truth – reality – the path to follow.





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